Funeral Songs
by The Lady Avaritia
Summary: Lavender writes her existence in fragments. She makes it in a series of disconnected unfinished scribbles, pours out her heart. On parchment, on walls, in margins, on bar napkins. The sweetest ones go on her victims. -dark!werewolf!Lavender-


**Title:** Funeral Songs

**Rating:** T  
**Spoilers: **general

**Characters**: Lavender  
**Summary: **Hands down in the dirt, that's the best way to go about it –dark!werewolf! Lavender-

**Disclaimer: **disclaimed

_Hands down in the dirt, that's the only way to go about it_

~x~

Lavender writes her existence in fragments. She makes it in a series of disconnected unfinished scribbles, pours out her heart. On parchment, on walls, in margins, on bar napkins. The sweetest ones go on her victims.

She spells out _Hermione, Hermione, Hermione_ across all the bushy-haired ones, takes extra care of them, smoothes down their hair, closes her eyes.

She writes a novel about starry eyed lovers on a boy who looks too much like Ron. Dedicates Fenrir a letter on one that reminds her of Scabior, like _You did this to me. I hate you, I love you, how's life on the run? I don't care. Hope the pack is doing well, All your fault, bastard, could've had it all, What happened to you? Dear, sweet Fenrir._

Draco goes on the bar napkins, lengthy pretty words to assuage the aching in her heart, as she dabs a spill of firewhiskey from her table in a bar somewhere in Italy, and feels a gut wrenching wave of nostalgia about Madam Rosmerta and the three unfortunate weeks in fifth year when she dated Blaie Zabini. So she fishes out a quill and writes for him _You'd have been proud_.

~x~

There's one who has Fenrir's captivating animalistic eyes. She rips his throat out with her bare teeth, and tosses it on the ground. Debates whether or not to, but then tears his heart out as well, for good measure. _All your fucking fault,_ she writes with her bloody hands, and smiles at her handiwork.

~x~

She leaves London on a Friday, says she'll be back after the full moon. Which full moon? She's been gone for almost a year. Many, many mangled Hermione's later she ignores owls and tracking attempts, doesn't write things like _I'm fine, tell Parvati not to worry,_ and _I'll be back soon okay, smiley face_, just makes sure to use proper grammar and punctuation, and has legible handwriting as she sends one to Harry, telling him she hopes he's doing well, and does so by way of a man who looks so much like Harry himself, it can't be anything but a sick joke.

She laughs.

~x~

Lavender starts writing a letter to her parents, and then –

~x~

She travels to a muggle village that's too much like Hogsmeade, and it's a few hours until the full moon. She Imperio's a boy to tell her he loves her. Makes him stumble before _love_, hesitate at _you_, he gets it perfect, like Seamus used to.

His eyes cloud over, when she literally breaks his heart, and her own small charred little heart fills with something like wistful guilt, and she could use some ink and parchment to write it down, but her bag is in the hotel, and so she settles for committing it to memory only way she knows how.

~x~

Harry tries to track her. Harry and a bunch of aurors, and their dementors. She sends him a love note on a girl who looks like Ginny. He sends her an owl, like _We're not giving up on you_, like, _You're still Lavender somewhere inside_, like, _I'll work my magic and you'll be good again,_ like, _I believe in you_.

She itches to write him something awfully rude, horrid and vile, to make him give up.

~x~

She does, eventually, and it disgusts her, the human heart is slick and wet with blood on her fingertips, _don't miss me._

She sets it on his doorstep personally.

~x~

_don't worry, please don't worry_, on the long awkward limbs of an Indian girl with long hair and a nasty smirk, and it's the only time she's written to Parvati.

~x~

She runs in Fenrir, only once, and their roles a reversed, and she is strong, while he is old and broken, and she smiles at him, white teeth gleaming in the light of the crescent moon.

'I got your notes,' he says.

'I know.'

~x~

She almost comes back, right around the time when she was supposed to come back, because she misses them. She misses Parvati's constant chatter about boys, and Hermione's judgy eyes, and Harry's honest smile, and Ron's boy-next-door charm, and Seamus' simple look, and Neville's soft naiveté, and Blaise and Draco who were all hard edges and sarcasm and indecent amounts of money.

But she can't. Life got in the way, and war, or maybe she did, and her diary is dusting somewhere, all unfinished sentences and small words of cold comfort,

And fairytales she never quite got around to finishing.

~x~

Like

_I love you so much, but I – _

~x~

Or

_Once upon a time there was a girl who loved a boy, who hesitated when he said I lo – _

~x~

And the one she regrets most

_This is the story of your milk and honey lover, the girl who loved you most – _

~x~  
Lavender never quite gets around to finishing her stories.

~x~

In France she stumbles on the Lestrange brothers, who stand untouchable by the British law, their war crimes wiped clean by their money.

They are much like her, two charming wolves, praying on the flesh of the innocent, and she like Rabastan best.

~x~

_Do you miss me?_ All over a woman with porcelain skin and wild black hair. Rodolphus finds her and laughs.

~x~

_Rest in my hands, I will rock you to sleep, for I am the gentlest of lovers_.


End file.
